


The Name We Give Our Mistakes

by Zai42



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Brief knifeplay, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Forced Voyeurism, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 23:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19711321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: The entire situation was barreling rapidly downhill and Oscar would prefer it stopped, thank you.





	The Name We Give Our Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flammenkobold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/gifts).



Everything hurt. If he tried, Oscar could maybe locate an epicenter of hurt - a low, nauseous pain throbbing behind his eyes - but it radiated brilliantly through his limbs in lazy, pulsing waves, so it made little difference either way. He opened his eyes and regretted it immediately. It was so bright, and he was being watched by something in a dark cloak, and really the entire situation was barreling rapidly downhill and he would prefer it stopped, thank you.

  
A hand grasped his jaw an an iron grip and tilted his head upwards with a dizzying yank. Oscar objected in an unintelligible grouse, his tongue dry and sticking to the roof of his mouth. "You're right," a voice said, "he _does_ talk too much."

  
Oscar squinted up at his captor, rolled his head on his neck to see who they were addressing. He let out a slow breath through his nose, jaw tensing. Grizzop was trussed up across the room from him, fuming, glaring as if it were Oscar's fault they were in this mess.

  
(Which it very well might have been, Oscar certainly couldn't remember how they'd ended up here. Not that he would admit that.)

  
The cloaked figure seemed more interested in him than in Grizzop at any rate. They shook him once before letting him collapse to the floor. "G'morning, gorgeous," they said, their voice thick with sarcasm and masked by magic. "Sleep well?"

  
"Prison was nicer," Oscar croaked. He swallowed, tried to coax saliva back into his mouth. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?" he added.

  
The figure snorted. "Don't you worry about that, sweetheart." They sank into a squat and Oscar held their gaze - or tried to, it was somewhat difficult with the hood in the way. "Now, I know who you are," the figure said, "enlighten me on that one." They nodded towards Grizzop, and Oscar noticed for the first time that he was gagged. Explained why he wasn't cursing out the entire room at a mile a minute, certainly.

  
"He's nobody," Oscar said, barely sparing Grizzop a glance, letting his face settle into a mask of imperious disinterest. "Nothing. Are you in the habit of kidnapping every random goblin you come across?"

  
"He seemed very invested in you," the figure said.

  
"Why wouldn't he, I'm delightful." Oscar sensed the figure was rolling their eyes, though he couldn't see them to be sure. Oscar could just make out Grizzop in his peripheral vision, rolling his own eyes. "Which is, I'm sure, why _you_ have insisted on my company."

  
The figure said nothing, but drew a long, wicked-looking dagger from their sleeve. "'Delightful.' Not the word I'd use," the figure said, "but think what you like." They pressed the tip of the dagger against the soft flesh of Oscar's throat, coaxing him to tilt his head back. "You've been causing trouble, Mr. Wilde."

  
Oscar said nothing and kept very carefully still.

  
"I've been asked to...persuade you to be more cooperative, shall we say."

  
"And you'll kill me if you can't, is that the deal?" Oscar murmured. "How creative."

  
The figure huffed out a small laugh and eased the tip of their blade down towards Oscar's clavicle. "I can be more creative, if that's what you're hoping for." Their knife glimmered as they sliced away the top button of Oscar's shirt. Oscar's lips thinned. "My employer" - another button gone - "would like to make it eminently clear" - and another - "that you are completely and without question" - two more in rapid succession - "at his most tender of mercies." Oscar's shirt fell open; the flat of the blade was cold against his skin. "Always. Without question. Wherever you may run, or hide, it will do no good."

  
"Is that so?" The cockiness in his voice felt thin and threadbare, even to Oscar's own ears. "Be that as it may - "

  
The figure slipped gloved fingers into Oscar's mouth and held his jaw open. They eased the dagger into his mouth alongside their fingers, the blade flat against his tongue. "You _do_ talk too much," they said again. Oscar couldn't tell if the metal tang in his mouth was from the cold iron or if the knife had drawn blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Grizzop straining in his bonds. "You're not as clever as you think you are," the figure added, and tapped the tip of the dagger against the swell of Oscar's lower lip as they pulled it from his mouth. Their fingers pressed against his lips next, playing over and over them. The leather of their gloves was butter-soft and may have been pleasant under other circumstances. Their fingers dipped lower.

  
"You've made your point," Oscar said tightly, arching away from the figure's touch. He had nowhere to go, ended up crowded against a wall while they pressed both palms flat against his stomach. "You can do whatever you like to me and I'm helpless to stop you. Clearly your employer wants my cooperation more than anything, so you can let us go."

  
"Us?" the figure asked, deceptively lightly. Their hands slipped beneath Oscar's waistband, fingers tracing jutting hipbones. Oscar tilted his head back, refusing to watch himself be stripped. At least they weren't using the dagger anymore. "I thought the goblin was _nothing?"_

  
Grizzop made a muffled noise into his gag. Oscar shot him a glance over the figure's shoulder; every line of him was taut, his eyes narrowed and his ears quivering in fury. If looks could kill the figure would be dead twice over. Oscar opened his mouth to reply and instead cried out.

  
The figure crooked the finger they had pressed inside him. "Pay attention, Mr. Wilde." Oscar heaved in a shaking gulp of air, trying to will his body to relax. The figure twisted their hand to get a better angle, inched their finger in deeper. "I could just let you go now. I'm willing to take your word for it, that you'll be cooperative." They pulled out of him, rubbed against his hole in tight circles with soft leather-clad fingertips. "But I'll kill the goblin." Oscar let out a slow breath through his nose.

  
"Or?" he said through clenched teeth.

  
"Or I give a demonstration," the figure said genially. "Make it abundantly clear how helpless you really are. And I'll let you both walk out of here."

  
Grizzop snarled, exploding into a flurry of struggles and spitting muffled curses into his gag. Oscar ignored him, stared pointedly at the ceiling, and spread his thighs. Grizzop made a high, angry noise that may have been his name. "Do what you want," Oscar said.

  
If he had to guess, Oscar would have said the figure smiled. "Maybe you're cleverer than I thought," they said.

  
Oscar let himself be eased onto his back; he couldn't help but cast his eyes over to Grizzop once more. He was staring back at him, his eyes intense but inscrutable, and Oscar looked away as the figure murmured something that sounded like a spell. Dark, unhealthy magic coiled like serpents around their fingers, unspooling and solidifying as it sank to the floor, thickening into a mass of black tentacles. Oscar realized his mouth was hanging open only when the figure reached out to tap his jaw and prompt him to snap it shut. "You have a reputation, Mr. Wilde," the figure said. "I wanted to keep you...entertained."

  
"Dear gods," Oscar muttered. The tendrils winding their way up his legs and pinning his arms to his sides twitched eagerly at the tremor in his voice.

  
The tentacle that sank into him did so easily enough. It was warm, and wet, and writhed inside him in a way that sent sparks up his spine, gliding deeper than Oscar would have thought would be comfortable. He bit his lip until it bled, trying to smother the moans catching in his throat. "Gods," he said again, and his voice shook harder now. A gloved hand stroked down his chest and Oscar jolted; he'd almost forgotten the figure was still there.

  
"You see?" they murmured. "Things are so much nicer when you do as you're told, aren't they, Oscar?"

  
The tentacle inside him twisted, a long and sinuous movement, and Oscar rolled his hips with it, half trying to escape it and half trying to ride it, the thick and pulsing press of it. The figure curled a loose fist around his cock, half-hard and already slick with precome. "Don't," Oscar begged without thinking. "Please, don't touch - " He threw his head back and moaned, a touch of hysteria in his tone; the tentacle thrust somehow deeper, dragging and slow and teasing inside him, every sensitive spot alight with sensation. "I - it - " He was babbling, _dammit._ "Too much," he managed.

  
The figure hummed and stroked him lightly. "I think I like you better like this," they said. They flicked their wrist, pressed a thumb against the dripping head of Oscar's cock. The leather of their gloves was slick and hot and made obscene noises as they jerked him off with long, slow movements.

  
Oscar shook, trapped between two overwhelming, merciless sensations. He was unbearably full, his cock now achingly hard, and when the figure leaned in close and murmured, "Now be a good boy and come," he was helpless to disobey.

  
The tentacle inside him didn't relent; Oscar groaned through his teeth, squirming as the figure kept up their grip on his cock, smearing his come along the length of it. "Excellent," they said, hunger and sadism in their voice. "Now let's see how many more times you can manage that."

  
Oscar let out a panicky bark of laughter, struggling weakly against the tentacles holding him still - and then there was a thud, and the figure cried out and whirled around. There was an arrow jutting from their shoulder, and Oscar found himself laughing again, a hysterical, unhinged kind of laughter.

  
It was a brief and one-sided skirmish, and the figure collapsed with a gurgle and three arrows pincushioning them. The tentacles wrapped around and pressed deep inside Oscar all vanished abruptly, and his laughter broke off with a groan, his body clenching around the sudden emptiness inside him. He forced himself to sit up. Grizzop was staring at him, his ears flat against his head, his eyes burning with righteous anger. "You shouldn't have _done_ that," he snarled.

  
Oscar ignored him, stood, and set about tugging the figure's cloak off to cover himself up. "They were quite high up in the local government," he said, too-lightly, when the hood came away. "We've had dinner together more than once."

  
"Wilde," Grizzop snapped. "You could have _left."_

  
"And now we're both leaving," Oscar replied tightly. "You're welcome, by the way."

  
Grizzop fumed, looking away from Oscar's face to glare at the corpse on the ground as if he could kill it again by sheer force of will. "Shut up and let me heal you," he said. "Come here."

  
Oscar went, kneeling so that Grizzop could lay his hands on him. The divine magic that flowed from his fingers was cool and comfortingly familiar, and Grizzop's hands lingered for perhaps a moment longer than they needed to. "Thank you," Oscar said, not meeting Grizzop's gaze.

  
"Let's find the others," Grizzop said. His fingertips just barely grazed Oscar's jawline. "Stay close. I want you out of trouble."

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a lot of time staring at the spell descriptions of Black Tentacles and Monstrous Extremities trying to decide which one worked better for smut purposes. Just so everyone knows research went into this.


End file.
